Pemberley Ranch

by Jack Caldwell

  “Beth.”

  She jerked her head to the right—and there he was—half leaning against the back of the coop, his bright blue eyes seeking hers, his left arm extended in welcome.

  The Winchester slid from her nerveless fingers; it hit the ground as she threw her arms about his neck, crying tears of relief. She buried her face into his vest, sobbing incoherently, feeling his strong arm embrace her, taking in that sweet aroma of cologne and leather and sweat and masculinity that would be forever the smell of her William. His attempt to console her only drove Beth to tighten her grasp.

  “Shush… shush…” he murmured, “everything’s going to be fine, Beth… everything’s going to—freeze, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll blow your goddamned head off!”

  Beth’s head jerked up from her comfortable position. A glance at Will’s stony face told her his words were meant for another. It was then she realized that Will’s right arm had not embraced her; it, in fact, was pointed straight out. Beth’s eyes ran down the length of his arm and the barrel of his Winchester to see over her shoulder that there was not one body on the ground by the pigsty but two—and one was weeping.

  “Please, please don’t shoot me, Mr. Darcy!” sobbed Billy Collins.

  “I won’t, if you lie still!” Will half-turned Beth away from any line of fire.

  Collins ran his hands through his hair, which caused him to scream. “Please! You have to let me up! Please! He’s all over me!”

  Darcy was relentless. “Stay still, damn it!”

  Beth narrowed her eyes in concentration. Collins didn’t seem to be injured, but there was something strange on the back of his head and jacket. Something pinkish-gray… Her eyes slammed wide open in recognition—she knew what was all over the protesting man. Holding back the bile that rose in her throat, she turned her face back into Darcy’s vest. But as tightly as she closed her eyes, she could not shut her ears.

  “I’m… I’m going to be sick—” Collins’s words were cut off by retching. Darcy’s concerns were only for his beloved.

  “Are you all right, Beth?” She nodded into his chest, not trusting herself to speak. The sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of others.

  “Will! Are you… oh, for crying out loud!” Fitzwilliam’s sarcastic voice was balm on Beth’s frayed nerves, as was her father’s cry of relief.

  “I… I’m fine, Father,” Beth managed, remaining deep in Darcy’s one-handed embrace.

  “Everything secure?” Darcy asked.

  “Yeah,” Fitzwilliam answered, “Our arrival really took the fight outta ’em; we only had to shoot a couple. What about here?”

  “Help me, Fitzwilliam,” moaned Collins. “Whitehead tried to use me as a shield and… and Darcy shot him and… and his brains are all over me!”

  “Oh, shut your piehole, Collins, or it’ll be your brains all over Whitehead! How d’you wanna handle this, Will?”

  “This rifle’s getting heavy,” Darcy said. “Cover him, will you?” Beth heard Fitzwilliam command Collins to move slowly off Whitehead—there was the sound of metal on wood—and now two arms held her close.

  There was the sound of more arrivals as Fitzwilliam whistled. “Ooo-wee! You plugged this sum-bitch square in the right eye, Will! Blew the back of his cotton-pickin’ head clean out! No wonder Collins is cryin’ like a baby. Damn good shootin’.”

  Darcy’s voice was ice-cold. “Right eye? Then I missed, Fitz. I was aiming for the bridge of the bastard’s nose. Sorry to make such a mess, Collins.”

  Beth whimpered and drove her face deeper into his vest.

  “Darcy…” Bennet’s voice carried a warning.

  “Sorry.” To Beth, Darcy repeated, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

  “It’s okay,” she shakily returned. “Just hold me.”

  In a lighter tone, Darcy asked, “Far be it that I look a gift horse in the mouth, but what the hell are y’all doing here, Fitz? I thought I told you to guard Pemberley.”

  Fitz laughed, “You did, an’ that’s just what I was doin’, ’cept we got real worried about the wagon not showin’ up last night. About an hour before dawn, Gaby had enough an’ ordered me to take some boys an’ see what the delay was.”

  “Ordered you? Gaby?”

  “Damn right, she did! Said, ‘With my brother gone, I’m in charge of Pemberley, and you’d best do as you’re told!’ Sounded just like you, boss!”

  Darcy laughed, and Beth couldn’t help joining him. She chanced a glimpse at Fitzwilliam, keeping her eyes away from the wreckage that was once George Whitehead.

  “Well,” said Darcy, “I’m mighty glad to see you, Fitz. When I saw y’all charging across that rise, I never been so happy to see an order of mine disobeyed in my life!”

  “Me too,” Bennet added. “You saved us all, Fitzwilliam.”

  The crowd moved closer to get a better look—Beth estimated it was about a half-dozen—when there was a disruption. The men parted before a short, female figure.

  “Lily!” cried her father. He tried to pull her away from the scene, but she would have none of it; she fought him off and approached the body, whimpering.

  “George? George? Are you dead, George? Are you dead?”

  Bennet tried again. “Lily, please—come away from there.”

  “No!” she screamed. The glare in her eyes, tinged with a hint of madness, held everyone at bay. She drew closer to Whitehead. The girl had changed into plain dress, and the makeup was washed from her face. She looked like the Lily of before, but there was something that told Beth that that girl was gone forever.

  “George? Why, George? Why did you do it? Why did you throw me away—why did you give me to… to Denny? How could you betray me? I loved you, George. I gave you everything. Do you understand? Everything!”

  Beth could no longer watch and turned again into Will’s strong chest.

  “No—don’t touch me, Father! Did you know what that did to me, George? Did you know what he did to me? Did you? Damn you, did you?” She punctuated her screams with kicks to Whitehead’s limp body. She kicked him again and again, crying, “Damn you to hell! Damn you to hell!” in time with her kicks. The sound of foot striking body pounded into Beth’s head, again and again.

  Beth’s nightmare only ended when Bennet was finally able to control her hysterical sister and carry her back to the house. Everyone stood silent—the only sound was Lily’s anguished howls.

  A lone rider dashed hell bent for leather in the early morning light.

  Normally, Pyke would be scared stiff riding on uneven terrain on a strange horse, but he was too terrified to worry about what he was doing. Unlike everyone else, he had recognized the Pemberley riders as soon as they made the top of the ridge. At Denny’s fall, he instantly knew the game was up, no matter what happened to Whitehead, and Pyke’s only thought now was escape. In the chaos of the battle, he had been able to secure a horse and slip away unnoticed. He took no chances; he rode like a demon, crouched down low in the saddle, expecting a bullet in the back at any time. He would not look back and see if he was followed, for he was afraid he’d see a whole posse giving chase.

  Pyke rode hard towards the B&R. He had to get out of the county, and he wasn’t going empty-handed.

  Darcy sat on the porch steps, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the reports, while Beth was glued firmly to his side, holding one of his hands.

  “All my boys are okay,” Fitzwilliam was saying. “I figure we shot about four of ’em, not includin’ Whitehead.”

  “And we got at least three more,” claimed José. “How many bodies we got?”

  “Nine,” said Peter, “and five prisoners. Our only casualty is Ethan.”

  “How is he?” Darcy demanded.

  A worried Mrs. Bennet spoke from the door. “Will, he’s in bad shape. We need Charles.”

  “All right; I’ll go get Doc Bingley right away,” Fitz said. At that Darcy stood.

  “You’ll be coming with me, Fitz. We’ve got to check on Sh
eriff Lucas, too. Bring two men. This ain’t over with yet.” Fitz made to object—Darcy’s exhaustion was plain to see—but a glare from his boss silenced him. Instead, he ordered Darcy’s horse brought around.

  Bennet crossed over to Darcy. “I know the sheriff is important, but get Charles first, all right?” Darcy nodded and Bennet patted his shoulder. “Son, it is over. All that’s left is rounding up the stragglers. So, take care, eh?”

  Darcy turned to take his leave of Beth, only to find her gone. Puzzled, and not a little disappointed, he climbed aboard Caesar, only to see her coming from the house with his hat. Wordlessly, she handed it to him, not responding to his small smile. As he put it on, Beth frowned and placed her fists on her hips.

  “You come back to me, Will Darcy! You hear me?”

  A grin spread over Darcy’s features. He tipped his hat and spurred his horse. Beth watched the four riders head out towards town.

  Chapter 21

  The stop at the Bingley place on the outskirts of Rosings was short. Charles had just sat down for breakfast when Darcy and his party arrived. With their assistance, Jane and Charles, along with his medicine bag and their infant daughter, were soon aboard their buggy heading to the Bennet Farm.

  The four riders then split up—Darcy and Fitz would approach the sheriff’s office from the street, while the other two covered them from the rear. Darcy waited five minutes to allow his men to get into position, then he and Fitz slowly made their way along the main street. It was early, and the shadows were still long as the pair passed the Whitehead Building. They were cautious, in case Denny left a rear guard. Because their attention was on Whitehead’s place, they didn’t notice the lone figure on the porch of the sheriff’s office until they were almost upon him. Startled, Fitz halfway drew his revolver.

  Darcy was the first to speak. “Mornin’, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Lucas was seated, leaning his chair back on the rear legs while resting his boots on a post, hat low over his eyes, whittling at a piece of wood. He glanced up at the greeting before returning his attention to his task, replying, “Mornin’, Mr. Darcy, Fitzwilliam. You boys are up early.” A sliver of wood floated to the porch.

  Fitz holstered his weapon, an incredulous expression on his face. Darcy, for his part, was amused as he leaned over the saddle horn. “You too, I see. Had a good night?”

  Lucas kept whittling. “Can’t complain.”

  Fitz couldn’t restrain himself. “But we heard Denny set some of his men after you.”

  Lucas didn’t raise his head. “Yep, he surely did.”

  “Then, what happened?” Fitz cried.

  Lucas glanced up, a smirk on his face. “He’d best send better boys next time. The two he did are coolin’ their heels in a jail cell, keepin’ Miz Sally company,” he said as he pointed the piece of wood over his shoulder. “Huh! The day I can’t handle two goat ropers like that with my deputies backin’ me up is the day I retire.”

  Darcy’s voice was flat. “There won’t be a next time, Sheriff.”

  That got Lucas’s attention. “That so?”

  “Yes. Gunfight at the Bennet place all night. Just ended. George Whitehead and Kid Denny are dead, along with seven of Denny’s gang. Took the rest prisoner, including Billy Collins. He’s singing like a bird.”

  “Damn!” With a bang, Lucas straightened up his chair and stood up. “And how did your people make out?”

  “One wounded—Doc Bingley’s seeing to him now.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Whitehead’s dead? Then it’s all over.”

  “No, it ain’t.” Darcy’s face was hard. “One loose thread left.”

  Lucas eyed him. “Yeah, I reckon so. You thinkin’ o’ payin’ a visit to Cate?”

  Darcy nodded. “This ends today.”

  Lucas sighed. “I reckon I’ll best be goin’ with you. You boys had any breakfast? Coffee’s hot, an’ Charlotte’s come in and whipped up some bacon ’n’ eggs.” He turned his head to Fitzwilliam. “She made biscuits.”

  Fitz grinned. “That’s mighty neighborly of you, Sheriff. Will?”

  Darcy shrugged. “A half-hour won’t make any difference. We’ll be pleased to enjoy your hospitality.” He had noted with satisfaction Fitz’s use of Lucas’s title. Perhaps there’s hope for the two of them, after all. I sure hope so, for Miss Charlotte’s peace of mind.

  As the two dismounted, Lucas opened the front door of the office. “I’ll send Smith over to the Bennets’ place to take the prisoners into official custody.” He stopped and turned. “Oh, by the by, you’d best tell whatever riders you sent to come up the back way to make themselves known. I can’t speak for Deputy Jones’s nerves, an’ I don’t want somebody to get hisself shot by accident.”

  Fitz’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know about that?”

  Lucas snorted. “’Cause that’s what I would’ve done in your place, Fitz, an’ I reckon you ain’t no fool.”

  After eating breakfast and enduring Fitz’s flirting with the cook, Darcy climbed aboard his black stallion and rode with the others towards the B&R ranch house. Sheriff Lucas insisted Deputy Jones come with them, and deputized one of Darcy’s men to guard the prisoners in the jail.

  The small group rode north out of town along the road beside Rose Creek. At a rise a half-mile from their objective, Darcy signaled for the men to halt.

  “All right. This is what we do. Fitz, you and Peter go around and sneak into the ranch house from the kitchen, if you can. Get Anne out of there. You see any trouble, you get out pronto. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sheriff—you, Deputy Jones, and I will go in from the other side.”

  “What side’s that, Mr. Darcy?”

  “The front door, Sheriff.” He turned to Fitz. “We’ll give you a couple minutes’ head start. Y’all best be going.”

  The two men galloped off to the west. Darcy watched them until they disappeared behind a ridge, then signaled to his companions to continue to the house. They took their time, holding their mounts to a trot, carefully taking in their surroundings.

  “Notice anything?” asked Darcy in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” the lawman answered, “where the hell is everybody?”

  The B&R Ranch should have been a hub of noise and effort; instead, it was completely deserted. If it wasn’t for the lowing of the cattle, one could easily believe the place had been abandoned.

  “Ah,” breathed Darcy. “Look to the northwest.” There, past the low hills, was a faint cloud of dust.

  “Sheriff, it looks like everybody done rode off,” said Deputy Jones.

  “Rats abandoning a sinking ship,” observed Lucas. “Think they heard about the gunfight?”

  Darcy watched the distant disturbance. “Hmm, maybe. I thought we got everybody, but maybe one of Denny’s gang got away. Hell, it doesn’t matter. Keep a sharp eye out, in case somebody stayed behind.”

  The three rode in, stopping before the main house. Tied to a hitching post was Judge Phillips’s buggy. “Well, lookie here,” drawled Lucas as he dismounted. “Seems Cate’s pet judge has come for breakfast. We get two birds with one stone.”

  The men dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post. It was then their good cheer ended—the front door was ajar. Without a word, Darcy, Lucas, and Jones drew their revolvers and slowly made their way up the porch stairs to the door. They moved to either side of the opening, looking at each other.

  “I’ll go in…” Lucas began when Darcy cut him off in a low voice.

  “No—I’ll go first. I know this house better than either of you. Stay close.”

  Taking a deep breath, Darcy moved the door open with the toe of his boot, keeping as much of the rest of his body hidden from sight as he could. When the opening was wide enough, he moved like lightning into the ranch house, crouching low, Colt before him. Darcy stopped some ten feet in, hard against the left wall of the hallway while his companions followed, moving over to the right. Without a wo
rd, Darcy signaled for them to move deeper down the hallway slowly.

  The three crept along the carpeted hallway, peeking into first the parlor, then the sitting room. It wasn’t until Jones got to the dining room that any sound was made.

  “Oh, my God!”

  The sheriff and Darcy looked into a scene of horror. The sun shone through the curtains, moving in the morning breeze, the light glowing off the yellow paint of the walls and gleaming hardwood of the table. Unfinished breakfast plates and one overturned coffee cup were on the table. And there was a man slumped over a plate, a dark red substance staining the tablecloth, while the chair at the head of the table had fallen over, partially hiding a woman’s body.

  “Cate!” Darcy gasped. Disregarding any danger, he ran to his cousin’s side, knowing all the while he was too late. And he was—Catherine Burroughs had been shot in the torso, her body still warm to the touch.

  The sheriff was by the side of the male victim while Jones remained at the doorway. “It’s Judge Phillips,” Lucas said. “He’s dead—shot in the chest.” He looked over. “Miz Burroughs, too?”

  “Yes,” Darcy croaked, his emotions a whirl. He had had his disagreements with Catherine, and he couldn’t say he actually liked her, but to see his cousin’s murdered body was a shock. He glanced at her face. Now, only in death, had her dour face relaxed into something other than the hard woman he had known all his life.

  Anne! His mind screamed. Darcy stood with a jerk. “They’ve been murdered, and my cousin, Anne, may be next. Come on.”

  The three dashed out of the room, heedless of the noise, heading for the stairs. Before Darcy reached the first step, he heard shouting—several voices, Fitz’s among them. A second later, there was the explosion of gunfire. Darcy tried to run as fast as he could, fear almost overwhelming him. Am I too late again?

  He turned at the landing to see three men crouched at the head of the stairs. Fitzwilliam! They glanced down at them, guns pointed, before lowering them. Just as Darcy and the others reached them, they stood. Darcy didn’t wait—he pushed through the group and down the upstairs hallway.